


Widow's Walk

by hesterbyrde



Series: Loved the Stars Too Fondly [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Gore, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, M/M, Murder, Mutilation, Nightmares, Porn, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Sex, jack crawford is an ass, murder investigation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7704355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of The Fall, Will allows himself to be pulled back into Jack's world of serial murder investigation. Someone is killing with quite elaborate purpose, marking their victims by smashing all the clocks in the house at the time of death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Silence Was a Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings all, and welcome to my offering for HannibalCreative's #itsstillbeautiful challenge!
> 
> Many thanks to KaminaDuck for rush beta-reading for me. That said, I've been working pretty flat out on this fic, so mistakes still might exist. Hopefully, between the two of us we can find them all before posting. 
> 
> The fic and chapter titles are taken from the song "Widow's Walk" written by September Whiskey and performed by Pandora Celtica. You can find them at www.pandoraceltica.com and you should totally go buy all their music because they are made of highly concentrated awesome. The song is used with the songwriter's permission.
> 
> This fic contains canon-typical gore and violence... think Randall Tier, Tree Man, and Cassie Boyle. The final chapters will also be NSFW. And obviously, this contains spoilers for the whole series so if you haven't seen the finale, be ye warned. I'll post more tags as I realize they're relevant. 
> 
> Thank you as always for reading. Please feel free to leave comments or come on over to Tumblr and find me at littlethingwithfeathers. I always want more Fannibal friends to flail with.
> 
> Onward!

Friday February 19th 10:31am - Missed call from Alana Bloom

Friday February 19th 2:04pm - “Hey Will, it’s Alana. Thought I’d check in with you and see how you’re doing. Heard from Jack that they’ve moved you out of intensive care. I’d… I’d come visit but they... Y’know. Still haven’t found Hannibal so we’re staying put for now. Margot sends her best. Give me a call if you feel up to talking. I’m sure you’ll be bored stiff. Bye!”

-

Saturday February 20th 11:13am - Missed call from Alana Bloom

Saturday February 20th 11:21am - Missed call from Freddie Lounds

-

Sunday February 21st 8:56am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Sunday February 21st 9:14am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Sunday February 21st 10:02am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Sunday, February 21st 10:21am - “Will, this is Jack Crawford. Now that you’ve gotten settled in your room, the FBI would like to take this opportunity to get your statement. I think I’ve stalled them as long as I can. Wanted to make sure you were feeling up to it. Anyway, give me a call back. The sooner the better.”

-

Monday February 22nd 10:10am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

-

Tuesday February 23rd 9:58am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Tuesday February 23rd 4:46pm - Missed call from Alana Bloom

-

Wednesday February 24th, 11:41am - Missed call from FBI Forensics Lab

Wednesday February 24th, 11:55am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday, February 24th 11:59am - “Hey Will, this is Jimmy Price. I hear through the grapevine that you’re on the mend. Anyway, had some questions for you? Some stuff the regular interview won’t cover. Jack says that hasn’t happened yet anyway but… anyway, glad you’re on the mend. Give me a call!”

Wednesday February 24th, 2:03pm - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday February 24th 2:15pm - “Will, this is Jack Crawford again. We need to schedule that interview. I know you’ve probably got PT and who knows what else, it’s gotta happen so give me a ring.”

Wednesday February 24th 3:03pm - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday February 24th 8:16pm - Missed call from Freddie Lounds

-

Thursday February 25th 8:04am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Thursday February 25th 10:33am - Missed call from FBI Forensics Lab

-

Friday February 26th 10:10am - Missed call from Alana Bloom

Friday February 26th 11:23am - “Hi Will! It’s Alana. Just checking in to see how you’re doing. Haven’t called in a few days. Anyway, hope you haven’t gotten too stir crazy in the hospital. Margot says hi. I’ll call later this weekend. Hopefully I can catch you. Bye!”

Friday February 26th 6:37pm - Missed call from Freddie Lounds

Friday February 26th 6:46pm - Missed call from 

Friday February 26th 7:06pm - “Hi Will, this is Freddie Lounds. I’m planning on writing an extensive article about how Hannibal Lecter gave the FBI and you the slip. And I’d love to hear your take on the Toothfairy as well, now that you’ve met him up close and personal. I’m sure it would be a lucrative article for both of us. Give me a call back. I’ve got some time this weekend. You’ve got my number.”

-

Saturday February 27th 9:41am - Missed call from FBI Forensics Lab

Saturday February 27th 11:23am - Missed call from Freddie Lounds

Saturday February 27th 12:25pm - Missed call from Freddie Lounds

Saturday February 27th 12:34pm - Missed call from 

-

Sunday February 28th 1:31pm - Missed call from Alana Bloom

-

Monday March 1st 9:40am - Missed call from FBI Forensics Lab

Monday March 1st 9:43am - Missed call from Brian Zeller

Monday March 1st, 9:58am - “Hey Will, this is Brian Zeller over at Quantico. We’ve finished processing all your belongings so if you want them back just give the word, and your room number and someone will swing them by. Maybe even me… it… it’d be good to see you man. Take care.”

Monday March 1st, 2:14pm - Missed call from 

-

Tuesday March 2nd 8:47am - Missed call from FBI Forensics Lab

Tuesday March 2nd 9:04am - Missed call from FBI Forensics Lab

Tuesday March 2nd 11:01am - “Will, it’s Price. Zeller’s got your stuff all bagged up. I’m going to swing it by this afternoon unless you… y’know unless there’s a better time. I promise to bring coffee if they’re letting you have any. Anyway, just wanted to give you a heads up. Catch you later.”

Tuesday March 2nd 2:13pm - Missed call from FBI Forensics Lab

-

Wednesday March 3rd 11:39am - Missed call from Alana Bloom

-

Thursday March 4th 9:40am - Missed call from Jack Crawford.

Thursday March 4th 9:43am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Thursday March 4th 9:46am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Thursday March 4th 9:49am - “Hey Will, it’s Jack Crawford. Listen, I was just going to call and tell you they’re officially calling off the search for Hannibal. With the amount of his blood that they found in the house, and on the terrace it’s just… if he hasn’t turned up at a hospital somewhere, it’s unlikely he survived. I… um… sort of wanted to be the one to tell you, so I could answer questions if you had them. So anyway, if you want to talk I’m here. You’ve got my number.”

-

Friday March 5th 5:27pm - Missed call from 

-

Saturday March 6th 11:02 am - Missed call from Alana Bloom

Saturday March 6th 11:23am - “Will! It’s Alana! I was going to come by and visit today, but Molly says you’re going home? That’s so great! I’m glad you’ve healed up so quickly. Anyway, cheers! Margot and I will toast you over dinner tonight. Hope to hear from you soon! Bye!”

Saturday March 6th 7:21pm - Missed call from 

-

Sunday March 7th 3:02pm - Missed call from Alana Bloom

Sunday March 7th 8:20pm - Missed call from Freddie Lounds

-

Monday March 8th 3:39pm - Missed call from Freddie Lounds

Monday March 8th 3:43pm - Missed call from Freddie Lounds

Monday March 8th 3:46pm - “Will, this is Freddie Lounds again. I’d really like to do that interview about the Toothfairy and Hannibal’s disappearance. It would do wonders for my traffic, and I’ll even cut you in on some of the ad revenue if you’re interested in talking. Call me back!”

-

Tuesday, March 9th 2:14pm - Missed call from Alana Bloom

-

Thursday March 11th 4:15pm - Missed call from Alana Bloom

Thursday March 11 4:23pm - “Hey Will, It’s Alana. Just checking in to see how you’re holding up at home and if you need anything. Molly’s keeping me updated but… y’know, I’d love to hear it from you. Anyway… glad you’re well on your way to… y’know. Anyway, catch you later.”

-

“Are you ever going to answer your phone?” Molly asked through the screened in porch. She’d brought Will his phone when it rang three hours ago, and it was still ringing unanswered and nigh unacknowledged off the hook. But so far he’d remained unmoved in the rocking chair.

“Blocked number.” he answered, eyes still fixed on the forested hills. The pines made the layered horizon look like rows of serrated teeth. “It’s probably Freddie Lounds.”

“Still haven’t talked to Alana?” she asked, folding her arms.

Will just mutely shook his head.

“She keeps asking about you.”

“Then you should answer her.” Will replied. On anyone else, the words would have come out with venom. As it stood, he just sounded tired. “I haven’t given you a gag order. I just… I don’t want to talk to anyone. To any of them. I don’t want to hear what I know they’ll say.”

“You don’t know what they’ll say.” Molly argued, folding her arms.

“Well, I don’t want to hear that either.” he said. “Just… I don’t want to talk to them. Trust me. They’ll either say exactly what I’m expecting or I’ll be able to tell they’re choking on every word they’re not saying. Probably both, now that I think of it.”

Molly sighed audibly. “You’re going to have to reach out to someone sooner or later.”

Will snorted, letting a hopeless smile twist onto his lips. “You are wrong about that. I don’t have to do anything. I told you… I know what they’re going to say. Alana. Jack. I’d be more comfortable talking to Freddie Lounds. At least she would be honest about pumping me for information, and I might get something out of it.”

“What about talking to someone else? To me?”

Will finally turned around, fixing her with a look harder than diamonds. “I never told you anything about Hannibal. I didn’t want you to know, and that hasn’t changed. I’d have to go back through… through everything. And I don’t want to do that any more than I want to talk about what happened recently. So just… thank you, but no.”

“But… I mean, I do know.” she said, her voice faltering around the admission. “I mean… Alana has told me some.”

“Well, she can be your authority on what happened if you’re really that morbidly curious.” he replied, turning back to face the trees.

“What about…” she trailed off.

“What about what?”

“What about a therapist?” she asked meekly. “Someone impartial so you can unburden-”

“The last person I had rummaging around in my head tried to cut it open.” he pointed at the bone-white scar that still marred his forehead. “No thank you.”

Molly sighed again. “I know you didn’t expect to survive the fall from the cliff.” she said softly. “But you did. And you’ve got to return to the land of the living. Walter and I can’t live with a ghost in the house.”

Will let a beat of silence pass between them. “Is that how it feels?”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “Yeah, that’s how it feels.”

It was his turn to nod, though he said nothing further.

“I’m… I’m going to go start on dinner.” she said, trying to retrieve some normalcy.

He gave another silent bob of his head and didn’t turn to watch her go. A solitary hawk had caught his eye as it soared above the serrated horizon.


	2. Hollow With Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly,
> 
> You said you didn’t want to live with a ghost, so I will find somewhere else to haunt. I know you wanted to help, but there are things in this world that must be lived with rather than repaired. Let me assure you, I do plan to live with them, but I cannot also live with the guilt of forcing you to do so as well.
> 
> If you want to serve me with divorce papers, the PO Box on the reverse side will be in service by next week. I promise not to dispute anything. 
> 
> Will.
> 
>  
> 
> Clinical and to the point. Almost polite…
> 
> Hannibal’s words echoed in his head like the sounding of a gong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! Here's chapter two!
> 
> Since this fic centers around a good bit of serial killer sleuthing, there's a lot of gore, references to violence, and murder/mayhem. It's completely canon-typical, but that does mean a lot.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I've been so happy to see feedback already! All the best!

Will left the state of Maine before the sun was up the following morning. It was as if Molly’s words were a starting pistol in a race he’d been training for since he’d awoken in the ICU. He just hadn’t understood it until he opened his eyes that morning with her words ringing in his ears. 

He packed a single bag, left a simple note with some instructions along with his keys, and just put the little cabin in his rearview mirror.

 

Molly,

You said you didn’t want to live with a ghost, so I will find somewhere else to haunt. I know you wanted to help, but there are things in this world that must be lived with rather than repaired. Let me assure you, I do plan to live with them, but I cannot also live with the guilt of forcing you to do so as well.

If you want to serve me with divorce papers, the PO Box on the reverse side will be in service by next week. I promise not to dispute anything. 

Will.

 

Clinical and to the point. Almost polite…

Hannibal’s words echoed in his head like the sounding of a gong. 

Will was a little shocked that he felt no guilt over leaving. Despite the fact that this was what he should have done a long time ago. Perhaps as soon as he was able to leave the hospital, though he’d never discussed it with anyone. That was the interesting thing about living a life half in a shroud. Hiding things felt normal. Necessary even.

And so furthermore, Will felt no remorse at the fact that he’d never told Molly that Hannibal had willed him the house where they had slain the Dragon together. The glass house perched on the precarious, eroding cliff. A kindly old lawyer had come to the FBI bringing the deed and paperwork. It had been one of the reasons Jack had been so keen on Will’s interview. 

Will found the house much as they originally did, save for the crudely boarded section of the picture window. The key was even still in the same place. The blood had been cleaned from the concrete and the interior. Even the wine had been replaced in the cabinet. 

As he stepped through the front door, Will realized he had half expected to find Hannibal here waiting for him. To hear music drifting through the rooms, or as absurd as it would be at this hour, to smell dinner being made in the kitchen. Surprisingly, the thought didn’t make his stomach turn, so much as it made his heart ache. The empty spaces of the house felt cavernous with the absence. This space was made for someone like Hannibal. Not Will. Now he knew the truth of what he’d been skirting for so long. 

Hannibal was gone. 

Will had succeeded in part. He’d intended to kill the monster, but only got half of it. The other half lived on, crippled into the life he’d promised to carry out. But this truth was what he had been avoiding since he’d awoken in the ICU, along with all the phone calls, visits, messages, and appointments. 

Hannibal was gone.

And Will felt stunningly, truly, and wholly bereft.

***

Tuesday May 31st 8:02am - “Hey Will, this is Jack Crawford. I know you’ve been sort of off the grid, healing up and getting your life back on track. I tried calling Molly but she said you’d left a couple months back, but… I um… I don’t know how else to say this but I need your help with something. There… there have been two murders that have uniq-”

“Hello?” Will’s voice was husky with disuse. Not from the early morning. He’d been up since before dawn.

“Hey Will! It’s good to hear your voice.” Jack actually sounded legitimately pleased.

“What can I do for you, Jack?”

“Ah, no need to jump straight to business, Will. Tell me how you’re doing! Molly said you weren’t living with her up in Maine anymore so-”

“Even when I was in the hospital, you only called when you needed something.” Will cut him off. “Except to tell me Hannibal was being listed as deceased in the FBI’s book, so supposedly we could all stop looking over our shoulders. Come on, Jack. Just spit it out.”

There was a breath of silence broken only by a resigned sigh on the other end of the line. “Two murders in the last month. The first we thought was odd but not… y’know your brand of odd. But another one showed up.”

“Same MO?”

“Similar circumstances, but not the same MO. There are purposeful details that link the two crimes.” Jack corrected. “What do you say that I come up to wherever you are and we can look at the-”

“No I’ll… I’ll just come to Quantico. I’m not far. Would rather see it all for myself.”

“You solved the Muralist on only pictures.” Jack stonewalled.

“As I recall, that was not by choice.” Will replied bitterly. “See you this afternoon.” He hung up before Jack had a chance to reply.

He sighed and scrolled back through the mountain of missed calls and voice mails from the last few months. They’d trailed off considerably after he moved out of Molly’s cabin, but there were still a few regulars. In the beginning, the majority were Jack, Alana, and what he suspected to be Freddie. No surprises there. But there were a few that jumped out at him as unexpected. A call from Margot. A few from Zeller and Price back at Quantico. He actually caught himself wondering why Beverly Katz hadn’t called. And then promptly kicked himself for forgetting. Again. She’d been dead for years, but somehow he kept thinking of her whenever he thought of Zeller and Price. Inextricable… conjoined… just as he and Hannibal were.

Had been.

Will swallowed against the lump threatening to rise in his throat, and with a few flicks of his thumb summoned the front page of TattleCrime. Surely scoop-hungry Freddie Lounds could give him some idea of what he might expect to see in Quantico that afternoon. And as always, she did not disappoint.

Her front page was plastered with gristly images, all hyper-saturated to highlight both the smears of blood and the blood red Ferrari that was the centerpiece of the… arrangement.

For a brief, livid moment of looking without seeing, Will wanted this to be Hannibal’s work. His second great missive of love to Will… but no. This… this was clearly a crime of passion. It certainly sent a clear message about the victim, but it was not at all Hannibal’s carefully choreographed MO. The scene was a mess. Blood everywhere...

The victim, a woman in her late forties with faded red hair and light gray eyes was found twisted and stuffed around the engine block of her pristine Ferrari 458. Cause of death was pretty clearly a slashed throat. The hood ornament, a figurine of a rearing stallion, had been pried off and somehow heated before being pressed into her forehead. Possibly antemortem, but Zeller would be able to tell for sure. Will only guessed because this really did scream “crime of passion.”

He told Jack as much when he arrived at Quantico.

“What?” Jack stammered, his face drawing up into a frown.

“Dude, Will, I know you’re itchin’ to get back in the saddle buddy, but you’ve barely been here five minutes.” Zeller said. “You’ve hardly looked at the evidence. I thought you needed that first before you could do your… thing.”

“You don’t agree?” Will asked, arching an eyebrow at him over the top of the police report. He was scanning for details Freddie Lounds would have left out. Likely due to a desire to save column inches for sensationalism and gore. 

There were plenty of details to be had. Like the fact that the victim had been found by the specialized mechanic that had been asked to make a house call. In his statement he said that he noticed when he arrived that the Ferrari seemed to be leaking either power steering fluid or oil, and when he popped the hood he very quickly discerned the source to be neither.

“Well… yes… but how have you figured that out already?” Zeller blustered. 

“Yeah… that was fast even for you.” Price added with a squint.

Will pouted in thought, belatedly realizing he was mimicking Hannibal’s mannerisms. “You ever think about hiring Freddie Lounds to do your crime scene photos, Jack?” he asked, still not looking up from the report in his hands.

That sent Jack’s fist quite noisily into the nearest aluminum lab table. “Fucking really? I’m going to have the badge of every motherfucker in the local PD. How does she keep doing this?” he barked to no one in particular, but everyone in the room flinched.

Price sighed audibly, eyeing the dent Crawford had just put in the otherwise smooth tabletop, before pulling a body out of the cabinet on the wall. “Well, anyway, meet Winifred Appleton, 41 years of age from D.C. Found… well, like this by her mechanic.”

“Her mechanic?” Will parroted.

“Yeah. Apparently, this Ferrari is a custom job.” Zeller answered. “All top of the line parts under the hood. And since she’s not using it to… y’know race or really do anything faster than 50 in Baltimore traffic, about once every month or so it needs a tune up.”

“Did the victim have a spouse?” Will asked, barely glancing at the body before returning his attention to the report in his hands.

“Yes, she had a wife.” Jack replied as he paced around the lab with his hands on his hips.

Will’s mouth pulled again as he thought. “Occupation? Description?” 

“Yeah… doubting it’s her unless she does steroids or PCP. She probably weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet.” Zeller said, sliding her statement across to Will. “Not saying it’s impossible, but it’s unlikely. Hell, she works as a financial advisor. Not exactly a lot of heavy lifting.”

“What did the victim do?” Will asked, absently leafing through the statement.

“Art.” Price said. “She was a sculptor, specialized in found materials.”

“Hardly one to really be able to afford something like a Ferrari, then.” Will opined as he scooped up the wife’s statement.

“Unless your bride buys it for you.” Jack jumped in.

“But I thought we just said that we didn’t think it was her.” Zeller said, a frown cutting into his brow.

“Accomplice?” Price chimed in.

“But then it’s not a crime of passion.” Zeller replied. “It’s planned. And I don’t think it would look like this.”

“I’m still not ruling out the wife. She… isn’t exactly kind in this statement. States that the victim just wanted her for the steady income.” Will flipped a few pages. “Apparently, once they were married and all the paperwork was filed, not including a prenup, things went downhill fast. She stated that Winifred cheated a lot… especially after getting the car. Spent all her time fooling around in bars and upgrading the car instead of working on her projects…”

“I’ll bring her back in.” Jack said, with no small amount of finality.

“Interview the mechanic again, too.” Will said, passing the report back to Price. “Appleton bought this car and promptly had to call this mechanic in to work on it… makes me wonder if she really knew what she bought. Or if she just wanted something shiny… what caused this?” Will held up an extreme closeup of the victim’s mangled wrist. Her gold watch was smashed.

“We aren’t sure yet… still running trace on it, but we fumed for prints and got nothing.” Price responded. “We thought it might’ve been from the brute force of… well,” he gestured at the body on the slab. “But there was no bruising consistent with the watch band. And we noticed another clock in the garage was smashed. The time on both was clearly visible. 9:18.”

Will flinched at the association. The memory of his own failed clocks rising to his mind like oil.

“That’s why we brought you in.” Jack stepped in close with another file in hand. “Have a look at this.”

Will had been expecting pictures of a body, but instead, there were several wide angled shots of a hunter’s trophy room. Every sort of fowl and deer were mounted on the wall… a wide platform held an entire pride of taxidermied lions posed over a zebra carcass… a tiger stretched out mid-pounce over a doorway… and the ubiquitous grizzly bear standing tall on its hind legs in one corner. Will swallowed hard against the tide that wanted to wash his mind back to the antler room of Garrett Jacob Hobbs, but despite the immediate superficial correlation, he found it strangely easy to resist. This was not a hunter like Hobbs, who hunted for food and sought to honor the life that was taken. This was the proud collection of a trophy hunter’s trophy hunter. A true sport killer.

As for the actual human murder scene, it took Will a moment to convince himself of what he was seeing. At first, it looked like a case of vandalism… something PETA would do with red paint and cameras mounted in eyeglasses. But closer inspection revealed that the victim had been cut apart and strewn about the trophy room, with choice bits given to his more carnivorous trophies. Centrally, his head and most of his spinal cord hung proudly from the mouth of the male lion, blood drying into pools under his giant paws.

“I’m guessing we’ve ruled out PETA.” Will said drily. 

“And his wife and adult son, who were in New York City at the time.” Jack replied. “Meet Edward Fischer, age 63, of western Richmond Virginia.”

“Ironic name, right?” Zeller chuckled, hoping to garner a reaction to the pun. 

He was disappointed when Will didn’t pay him any mind. “Was there a way to discern a murder weapon?” 

“Not that we can tell immediately. There were a few scratches on some of the bones that could be either murder weapon or dismembering tool, but...” Price sighed and gestured to the images. “But admittedly we only found him yesterday and going through all the… bits is taking awhile. Thank God for interns.” 

“So… why show me both of these?” Will asked. “I’m seeing similar motives, but I’m not seeing… y’know the usual reason you call me in.”

“Check this out.” Price handed Will a second file folder full of pictures. These were all of clocks in the Fischer residence, faces smashed in at exactly 10:21.

“Ah…” Will trailed off. “That’s a similarity alright. No other connections between the victims? Or the families of the victims? And I suppose it would be too much to ask for there to be fingerprints.”

“Nope and nope.” Price replied with a despondent shrug. 

“Don’t know why the Appletons would hang out with the Fischers.” Zeller said, “They were big game hunters and Clan Appleton was vegetarian. Winifred even forewent leather seats in the Ferrari. Had to special order that. Probably cost more than the leather.”

“They live in different cities… don’t cross paths at all as far as we can tell, though we’re still going through their online activities.” Jack added. “I just wanted to… see what you see.”

Will nodded. He realized belatedly that he’d put off showing off the parlor trick. He could have done it from the very beginning… would have certainly sped things along. But… then they wouldn’t have talked it out. Maybe that’s what he was doing. And he had to admit that the familiarity of investigation… of the grand puzzle solving was a comfort.

And yet, they’d come up empty handed. So the parlor trick it was...

What he really wanted was Hannibal. Even if that meant he might find him somewhere in these images. He wanted the one thing in his life that he understood so well that it actually helped him understand himself. That thought horrified him once. Now it only left him cold with want.

“Will?” Jack’s voice cut through the haze of his thoughts.

“What?”

“You… have anything for me?”

Will glanced around the room and realized that they all thought he was mid-reconstruction, and they were just waiting on his verdict. He had to fight to keep a frown off his face. Was this really the best the FBI could come up with in terms of behavioral science? Or was Will just that good at hiding… well, everything.

“No… not yet… I just. Give me a minute.”

“Take all the time you need.” Jack soothed, and it took all of Will’s self-control not to visibly bristle at it.

Will closed his eyes, and took a breath so deep it made his ribs ache. As he pushed the air from his lungs he reached for the place where the pendulum swung in the dark. He found it with surprising ease, despite the lack of practice. Still thrumming there as if it hadn’t ceased. Maybe it never ceased. 

He stood in a place of his own making. Half in Winifred Appleton’s garage and half in Edward Fischer’s trophy room. Dead eyes watched him from all sides, human and animal alike. He walked through, seeing not only the displayed animals, but the pictures that had been taken with their newly vacated corpses. And likewise, the pictures of this car. This trophy all its own. There was pride here. Immense pride. Such that great care had been taken to show to all the world how much these things mattered.

Will wandered their houses, finding both chic and dated furniture, and expensive hardwood and old shag carpeting. Not many new pictures on the wall… a lot of artwork in the Appleton residence, and old photos of the Fischers. Landmarks, though the victim was in scarce few of them. And no one in his family was in any of the hunting pictures. Hunting was his domain.

“Both murders are statements about obsession.” Will finally stated, opening his eyes and finding himself squinting under the bright fluorescent light. “The murderer is making a statement about these people and the nature of their obsessions.”

“Do you think he has contempt for these people?” Jack asked. “That these obsessions tore them away from what he feels should have mattered most. Their families. Both victims neglected their families to pursue other interests.”

Will’s mouth twisted with thought but he couldn’t formulate an answer.

“What about the clocks?” Zeller cut in. “Our approximations of time of death coincide with the time on the clocks.”

“Clocks symbolize a lot of things besides the passage of time, though that is the obvious one.” Price said, cocking his head as he thought. “They also can be an avatar of something cyclical in nature. Maybe there was something about these obsessions that was repeating?”

“Perhaps the smashing of the clock faces was an effort to stop the cycle?” Jack suggested, though he didn’t sound at all convinced.

“I’ll check their spending records and see what I turn up.” Zeller replied with a shrug. “Maybe there’s a trip our hunter took every year. Or some sort of car show that Appleton attended? Couldn’t hurt.”

“Let me ask the important question.” Jack said, placing his hands on his hips again. “Do we think this killer is done?”

Will bunched up his face and shook his head. “I sincerely doubt it. If we’re right, he’s got an endless supply of potential victims.”

“And no way to know how he’s choosing them.” Jack lamented.

“Not yet. Price and I will keep looking through records. There’s got to be some sort of connection.”

Will’s mouth pulled again, but he said nothing.

“What was that look, Will?” Jack asked.

“Wouldn’t be that hard to find these people… find the story of their families. Befriend them. Go through their records again, but I’ve got a hunch that our killer’s just finding them. Maybe through Facebook or a blog site. It’s not exactly an original story, after all.”

Jack nodded. “Thanks for your help on this. We’ll be in touch.”

“If another body drops.” Will finished as he shook Jack’s hand. 

“Good to see you Will.” Price piped up brightly. “Don’t be a stranger!”

“I’m sure I won’t be.” Will replied more darkly than he meant to, nodding to the body still exposed on the slab.

 

***


	3. Cold is the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “HANNIBAL!” he screamed into the void, unsure of whether he was screaming for help, or calling for an answer, or just yelling the name just to hear it aloud for once. He knit his hands into his hair and let a dry sob quake through his body.
> 
> “You’re as alone as I am.” the words came unbidden to his mind as he stood there, shaking on the cliff’s edge. No truer statement had ever been made. He wasn’t even sure if it was him or Hannibal who had said it anymore. Or if it even mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all!
> 
> Many thanks to those of you who have commented and left kudos. You give me life!!! And also thanks to those of you catching my mistakes. Like I said... my editing process usually takes place across weeks and it's been condensed into a few days. And many thanks to KaminaDuck for beta-ing in such a short window as well.
> 
> Thank you again for reading! Enjoy!

Will returned to the yawning vacancy of the seaside cabin just before darkness completely subsumed the sky. He had intended to make an early night of it. Maybe trawl TattleCrime for new photos of the Appleton murder before bed. But he found the aggressively empty space of the cabin, dressed in every corner with Hannibal’s sensibilities, just made him restless. And he still couldn’t shake the feeling that every time he turned a corner he would find Hannibal there. Not with any sort of foreboding or ominousness… just doing something benign like playing the piano or pouring a glass of wine.

Without many options for distraction at hand, Will paced out on the edge of the cliff face, letting the wind push him precariously towards the sheer drop to the rocks below. The same edge he’d thrown both of them over. The ocean thundered below in mockery of the clear, starlit sky overhead. 

Over the years, Will had heard people talking about long drops calling to them. Not even necessarily for suicidal reasons. Just intrusive thoughts shattering an otherwise serene vista. A whisper from oblivion. But Will heard no such call, not now and only once before. The only thing calling his name was the bottle of cheap whiskey tucked in the freezer. 

He turned in early that night with two fingers of said whiskey in one hand and his aging laptop in the other. He settled into the sheets, reminded with each smooth slip of the fine cloth over his skin that these were most certainly a choice of Hannibal Lecter. He took a longer than average sip of whiskey to burn the thought from his mind.

Freddie had been hard at work, charming and deducing her way to more or less the exact same conclusion that had been drawn in the lab about the Appleton murder. But her information on the Fischer killing was much more speculative. She hadn’t even managed to score an actual crime scene photo, so all she had was images from Fischer’s Facebook page.

And she didn’t mention the clocks, and thus had not connected the two killings. So Jack was succeeding in keeping that a secret for now, which would good. That would keep the likelihood of a copycat low.

Will finished his whiskey and continued to flip through Freddie’s backlog of drivel. She’d clearly been chomping at the bit for a story like these. She’d strung out talking about the Toothfairy and the escape of Hannibal the Cannibal until the story had reached its breaking point. Her ad sales and traffic were probably what forced her to move on to fresher material, and that was probably a first in her long and ravenous career. But she still called now and again, both from her cell and the blocked number. At least Will assumed it was her. She must still be on the trail. And not just for ad sales.

Will’s eyes were starting to get heavy as he came across a picture of Hannibal Lecter smiling for a photo at some gala or another. He looked like the most exquisite and architectural work of art in a dark gray suit, for once bereft of plaid or stripes. But where the suit lacked ostentatiousness, the tie and pocket square made up for it, both in differing patterns of the same saturated, brilliant purple. And that smile... Hannibal had always smiled as if he knew the most glorious secret. 

He certainly did, Will thought. He certainly did.

Will didn’t remember falling asleep. Only that he was suddenly aware that he was dreaming. He found himself floating in murky water, unsure at first which way was up, but untroubled by it at first. The light diffused evenly all around and the water wasn’t cold. But he could see shapes moving and shifting in the water at the edges of his vision. Some of them vaguely humanoid, or once were… They rose up out of the depths like ragged kelp. 

As he swam closer, Will realized they were shapes he recognized. Bodies, half decayed and covered in fungus. Men and women of all skin tones frozen and posed, their hair stiff with cracking lacquer. The eyeless man covered in stings. The all three of the Angel Maker’s victims drifted through the water, the skin on their backs waving like sea fans in the current. 

Will heard something shift in the water below him, and he looked down to see Jack swimming up out of the dark with inhuman speed. A glint in his opaque white eyes hinted at a malevolent intent. Only then did Will panic and try to make a break for it, but couldn’t swim fast enough. He was dressed and his clothes dragged in the water. And he needed to breathe. His lungs burned and threatened to suck in the seawater for want of air.

Jack caught his leg and Will thrashed against him. He looked down to see Jack open his mouth to reveal row after row of sharp needle-like teeth, like the maw of a deep sea anglerfish. He tried desperately to claw through the water towards what he hoped was the surface, but to no avail. The Jack-thing’s grip was like iron. 

Then he was being bodily hauled out of the water. He looked down to see blood in old familiar places on his clothes. Old wounds had reopened and begun to bleed. He looked up to see his rescuer was none other than Hannibal, also bearing the injuries he garnered from the fight with the Dragon. He reached out and caressed Will’s cheek, his thumb dipping slightly into the wound making it burn, but Will didn’t care. He wasn’t cold. He was surrounded by light and by the smell of Hannibal’s skin. It felt real… so real...

Will bolted awake, the scent of the dream… the smell of blood and the open ocean lingering falsely in his mind like a fog. Or was it false... He raced out onto the freezing terrace in only a tshirt and shorts. The thundering crush of waves on the rocks far below greeted him as he stumbled for the edge. He looked down, still blinking sleep and tears from his eyes. The drop still didn’t call out. But he did. There was no one around to hear his desperation.

“HANNIBAL!” he screamed into the void, unsure of whether he was screaming for help, or calling for an answer, or just yelling the name just to hear it aloud for once. He knit his hands into his hair and let a dry sob quake through his body.

“You’re as alone as I am.” the words came unbidden to his mind as he stood there, shaking on the cliff’s edge. No truer statement had ever been made. He wasn’t even sure if it was him or Hannibal who had said it anymore. Or if it even mattered.

As his panicked breathing slowed, Will let his eyes rise above the pounding surf to the sky overhead. He found he could see more artifacts of the night sky out here on the edge of civilization just as he could back in Wolf Trap. The Milky Way painted a hazy swathe across the midnight black, carrying with it the familiar shapes his father had taught him out on Lake Erie. Will had never been the sentimental sort, but nevertheless, the sight gave odd but not unwelcome comfort to him. 

Only when he was numb up to his elbows and knees did he finally go back inside. Going anywhere seemed abhorrent. Will poured himself another finger of whiskey and went back upstairs to flop down into bed with his laptop. The first tendrils of gray dawn light found him re-reading TattleCrime articles and wishing he could go back to sleep.

***


	4. With Lingering Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was barely a week before Jack’s number showed up on Will’s caller ID. Before that it was nothing but call after call from Freddie, who had spied him coming out of Quantico and quickly surmised why he was there. Molly also called once in that time, but elected not to leave a message. 
> 
> “Got this one for you fresh.” Jack stated, as if this were something to be pleased about. Like it was a box of doughnuts rather than a corpse.
> 
> “Great.” Will hoped the reply didn’t sound as grating as it felt. “Text me the address and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings again! Here's chapter four!
> 
> Many thanks to KaminaDuck for the very swift beta reading. My editing time has been crunched so there are probably mistakes. Please let me know if you see any, and thank you to those of you who've already caught things. 
> 
> No new warnings to speak of... just more casefic murder and mayhem.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading and for all the cool feedback I'm getting. Much love to all of you!

It was barely a week before Jack’s number showed up on Will’s caller ID. Before that it was nothing but call after call from Freddie, who had spied him coming out of Quantico and quickly surmised why he was there. Molly also called once in that time, but elected not to leave a message. 

“Got this one for you fresh.” Jack stated, as if this were something to be pleased about. Like it was a box of doughnuts rather than a corpse.

“Great.” Will hoped the reply didn’t sound as grating as it felt. “Text me the address and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The address dumped Will on the doorstep of a lavish house, in a veritable garden of residences that cleared the million dollar mark. Hell, each house probably cleared Will’s old teaching salary on landscaping alone. Will would have sniffed in derision at the useless excess, but then he remembered he was currently living in a house like that, willed to him by a ridiculously wealthy… something. He wondered if his seaside chalet had maintenance costs. While it didn’t have the manicured topiaries and water features that these houses sported, surely it did have some sort of upkeep. Perhaps Hannibal had seen to those arrangements too before… before. 

Will shook himself and quickly climbed the front steps to the huge glass door. As he raised his fist to knock, a uniformed officer poked his head around the corner of a hedge.

“You Will Graham?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. Looking for Agent Jack Cr-”

“They’re all this way. It’ll be easier to come around back. Forensics is still cataloging the house.” the officer informed him, beckoning him to follow.

He led Will around through a small garden gate to the rear of the house. The back yard sported a white stone terrace that opened out onto a spectacular pool. It was all there. Burbling fountain. Manicured grass. Matching outdoor furniture. It looked like the set of a music video, or some insipid reality show. Up on the terrace were the figures of Crawford, Zeller, and Price all with their backs set against the wind that cut up the face of the hill. Jack waved when he saw Will, though Will didn’t wave back. He was transfixed at the scene they were gathered around.

In the exact center of the terrace a man’s body was propped up to appear as though he were standing. In his left hand he held a woman’s severed head by the hair, displaying it as though it were a trophy. The body that had supplied it lay crumpled at his feet. Both were completely and classically nude.

“Ain’t love grand?” Price mused sarcastically as Will took the scene in. 

“This is Arnold Archer, 45 years of age, and his girlfriend Candice Miller, 39. Both done in by swift blows to the back of the head. There’s a window broken in the basement. We think the perpetrator was lying in wait for them.” Jack informed him solemnly. “He’s a financial investor for some law firm downtown. She is fairly well to do herself, owing to ownership of a thriving plastic surgery clinic.”

“We’re already looking for a link between Archer and Winifred Appleton’s wife.” Zeller piped up.

“I don’t expect you to find one.” Will replied, his voice a little spacy as he circled the statue. Belatedly, he realized how petulant that sounded so he amended to add, “You concluded there wasn’t one between the first two victims. I doubt there would suddenly be one here.”

Jack nodded, convinced for now. But Zeller only gave a sullen shrug.

“Clocks smashed?” Will asked, eyes darting back over his shoulder.

“Yep.” Zeller replied crisply. “Every analog clock in the place was broken at 8:41.”

Will tore his eyes away, a thought itching at the back of his mind. This looked familiar. This looked…

“I thought I recognized it.” Price said, thumbing through his phone. “It’s the famous statue of Perseus and Medusa.” He showed them all a slideshow of photos depicting a bronze statue, and sure enough the pose was similar enough to not be a coincidence.

“So what are we thinking? Homewrecker? Jealous lover’s revenge?” Jack tossed out hollow theories like ticker tape.

“No, it’ll be the same theme as the others.” Will said, already pocketing his glasses in anticipation of the long plunge. 

“Theme?” Jack repeated. “We usually call it motive.”

“Call it whatever you want.” Will quipped. “This is a commentary on obsession, just like the others. Do we know when they started dating?”

“Uh… made it Facebook official about four months ago.” Zeller answered.

“Do you have his purchase history pulled yet?”

“Yeah, Zeller pass it to him.” Jack ordered.

Will scanned it, his eyes hanging on exactly what he expected. “In the last four months, his purchase habits changed pretty remarkably. Before he started dating her, it was the pub every other night. Pricey dry cleaning. Some hefty donations, but nothing like what I’m seeing more recently. Baltimore Symphony season tickets and their Winter Ball tickets. Boutique shopping. The Baltimore Museum of Art annual gala. More boutique shopping. An exorbitant bill at Apple. And another at Tiffany’s. And look at that…” Will pointed with the edge of his thumb. “Reservations… plane tickets… all for a trip to southern France.” 

“I need to find me a guy like that.” Price grumbled, earning him a none too subtle glare from Zeller.

“So do you even need to do your thing?” Jack asked.

“Only if you want to find something out that you might not catch on your own.” Will replied waving the paper before passing it back to Zeller. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

Jack nodded before turning to the rest of the FBI team. “Clear the terrace! Find something to do inside! Let’s go!” He barked.

Will flinched at the sharpness in his voice. He’d never understood why Crawford went about things the way he did. A little softness wouldn’t lose him any credibility. And would make the environment a little less brittle.

He sighed, watching the last of the agents drift away to busy themselves cataloging the inside of the house. Then he closed his eyes and reached for the pendulum in the well of his mind.

Swing.

Swing.

Swing.

Will had seen that statue before. It hung in the darkness; the shifting, swaying light making the shadows twist and coil around it. Making Medusa’s hair look alive and writhing. Where had he seen that statue before…

Such an odd choice. None of the others had artistic themes. They were simply a statement of intent. A judgement, though… not a punishment exactly. 

And the clocks… all stopped. All robbed of their time keeping, perhaps just as one’s obsessions will steal away precious time? Will wasn’t convinced but left it for now.

If it weren’t for the clocks the murders would barely be connectable. Perhaps after a half a dozen or so. But it was as if that was...

Will frowned mentally. Every time he attempted to ascribe a motive or idea to the killer, it slid off like Teflon. He came away with no more than he went in with. He couldn’t tell how he was choosing them, or how he knew their “crimes.”

“Sorry Jack. I got nothing.” Will said. 

The lines in his face deepened with shock. “Nothing at all?” Jack blustered.

Here we go… Will thought

“This is victim three and four.” He railed pointing at the gristly scene.

“Yes, I can count.” Will bit back, fighting to keep his voice low.

“I don’t want five.”

“Neither do I, but I don’t see anything conclusive here beyond motive. Nothing to tell me how they’re being chosen. Nothing to tell me what’s special about them or what’s unique about their killer.”

“Y’know, the last time that was the case, turned out we were chasing Hannibal Lecter.”

Will furtively shook his head. “No. That was different. This is different.”

“I imagine it does feel different since your brain’s not cooking in your skull like a hardboiled egg.”

“Are you saying I’m not currently broken enough to do my job?” Will asked incredulously. Now they were starting to earn some looks from the other agents as they returned to the scene. Jack grabbed Will by the elbow and led him out past the edge of the pool.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all.” He said, making a visible effort to keep a handle on his temper. “I’m just thinking your focus is a little off. You’ve never come back with an “I don’t know.” before.”

“First time for everything.” Will shrugged.

“Well, I can’t have that now. I need you to help me investigate this will or… or…” He trailed off. 

“Or what? You’ll replace me? I’d love to see that job listing.” Will replied tartly, staring off over the ridiculously manicured lawns. “If you need a replacement field agent, remember my recommendation about Freddie.” He nodded off to the house next door where the redheaded woman herself stood out on the balcony. From here, the lens on her camera looked about six feet long.

“Jesus fucking Christ, really?” Jack half-shouted.

Freddie smirked and took a picture just for the sake of making a point that she could.

“Look, let me take the file home and think some more. It’s…. this is the first time I’ve seen this stuff in a long time.” Will said with calm resignation.

Jack nodded, finally tearing his eyes from Freddie’s perch. “Yeah, I’ll get you whatever you need. I just can’t have you give up on this.”

“I’m not giving up.” Will said firmly, jamming his hands in his pockets. “I’m just a little slow these days, I guess.”

Jack nodded again and led them both back up to the terrace.

***


	5. Cold is My Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was standing where they’d last touched, his treacherous whiskey fogged-brain whispered. He looked down as if expecting to see a pool of blood, but only found proverbially bare stone under his feet. It was probably as cold as he felt. He knocked back a long sip, letting the scalding heat seep into his bones against the biting chill that he told himself was an unseasonable wind. Not the absence of Hannibal standing there with him to watch the stars chase each other fruitlessly across the sky as they once had chased each other.
> 
> He ached for Hannibal. He couldn’t deny it or avoid it anymore. Not that there was anyone around to convince anyway. Jack and the company of the FBI never so much as breathed his name, as if they wanted to blot him from their collective memories by pretending it had never occurred. A severe lapse in judgement that they’d all just as soon never have happened. He idly wondered for a moment if they’d done that with him too while he was incarcerated. The elephant in the crazy house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! Here's chapter five of my offering for #itsstillbeautiful!
> 
> Many thanks to all of you who have commented and left kudos. Y'all are going to make me die of blushing.
> 
> Many thanks also to KaminaDuck for the speedy beta-read. And also to those of you who have caught mistakes. The editing on this has been rather crunched so I appreciate your patience.
> 
> Be warned that this chapter is NSFW!
> 
> Thanks as always for reading! Hope you enjoy.

Will didn’t make it back to the cliffside cabin until well after dark. The bottle of cheap whiskey was in his hand before he even took off his coat. He could almost hear the creak of Hannibal’s derisive sneer at the toxic waste he was about to pour inside his body. He couldn’t bring himself to care enough to stop, or to push the image away. 

He knocked one back. Then another. Then poured another and actually bothered to put ice in this time before wandering out onto the terrace.

Scorpio was crawling up out of the depths of the horizon to chase after Mars. Will sipped his whiskey and tried not to think about how much his mental voice still sounded like Hannibal’s. That was the sort of description Hannibal would give after all… giving narrative and creative meaning to a meaningless arrangement of celestial objects. 

It made him ache… hollow and hungry. More than he ever dared admit in the pale light of day. Or sober for that matter. He’d tried to push it away. For months. Tried ignoring it. Was trying now to replace it. But the gnawing longing was always there… licking it’s bloody lips and waiting for every opening. 

He was standing where they’d last touched, his treacherous whiskey fogged-brain whispered. He looked down as if expecting to see a pool of blood, but only found proverbially bare stone under his feet. It was probably as cold as he felt. He knocked back a long sip, letting the scalding heat seep into his bones against the biting chill that he told himself was an unseasonable wind. Not the absence of Hannibal standing there with him to watch the stars chase each other fruitlessly across the sky as they once had chased each other.

He ached for Hannibal. He couldn’t deny it or avoid it anymore. Not that there was anyone around to convince anyway. Jack and the company of the FBI never so much as breathed his name, as if they wanted to blot him from their collective memories by pretending it had never occurred. A severe lapse in judgement that they’d all just as soon never have happened. He idly wondered for a moment if they’d done that with him too while he was incarcerated. The elephant in the crazy house.

After a long, silent discourse with the night sky, punctuated only by the grating crush of the waves below, Will trudged back inside. He never knew what he expected to find out there. It was almost as if he thought Hannibal might climb back up out of the briny depths. Or maybe be found in the reflection of the stars. Both were equally plausible, Will mused sourly.

He drained his whiskey and retired to bed, shivering at the cold, silky sheets on his bare alcohol-fevered skin. He shifted and soon found himself mindlessly rutting down into the mattress. He groaned, half in barely formed pleasure and half in frustration. He didn’t want to have to bother with this… he could always spot the flaws in his own fantasies, leaving him pent up and irritated at himself. But he was already half hard… might as well go ahead.

A face flew to his inebriated and unguarded mind almost the instant he purposefully rubbed himself against the sheets. 

Hannibal.

“No…” He whispered into the darkened bedroom. But it was too late. Hannibal’s smile had coalesced… tempting and a little pleased. A sumptuous curve of lips highlighting the architecture of his cheekbones.

Will took himself in hand, desperate to get this over with. His face burned with shame as he worked himself up. Shame at the fact that precum was already slicking his shaft, making a wet patch on the front of his boxers. And shame that this scenario was so flawless and easy to envision. He blamed the alcohol. Empty blame of course, he knew. He could spot the flaw there, but not with the thought of Hannibal watching him.

Hannibal wasn’t even doing anything. He didn’t need to of course, Will’s treacherous brain reminded him. His amusement and affirmation of what Will was doing was enough. It had always been enough. He twisted his wrist on the next thrust making himself moan aloud and Hannibal’s face, shuttered behind Will’s closed eyes, smiled with wanton approval. The barest edge of teeth...

It took embarrassingly little time after that. Just a few short tight strokes and Will was coming, shooting farther than he could ever remember. He rolled to his side, heedless of the mess as tears seeped down his face both in shame and loneliness. 

Why was he like this? Eternally incomplete. He understood his own intentions at the cliff’s edge with more clarity than any murder scene. He knew that this squalid reality was inevitable otherwise. That this would end with him writhing and desperate, and unable to save himself.

Sleep did claim him eventually, and was blessedly dreamless. But not before his tears had long dried on the pillow.


	6. Flicker and Twist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday June 14th 8:03am - Missed call from Jack Crawford
> 
> Tuesday June 14th 8:05am - Missed call from Jack Crawford
> 
> Tuesday June 14th 8:06am - Voicemail from Jack Crawford: Will, pick up your phone. Another body dropped and I need you here to see this. You’re… you’re going to want to see this-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all!
> 
> Many thanks and much love to all of you who have left kudos and comments. Seriously... I'm so overwhelmed at the feedback. I may discover inadvertently that it is possible to die from blushing.
> 
> Also many thanks to KaminaDuck for the beta. There are probably still errors as I'm also writing over-top of his beta reading, so please be kind. And do let me know if you catch something.
> 
> This murder is a particularly gristly one... hope no one is afraid of arachnids! 
> 
> Thanks as always for reading!

Tuesday June 14th 8:03am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Tuesday June 14th 8:05am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Tuesday June 14th 8:06am - Voicemail from Jack Crawford: Will, pick up your phone. Another body dropped and I need you here to see this. You’re… you’re going to want to see this-

“Yeah… yeah sorry I was in the shower.” Will mumbled, trying not to sound like he was lying through his teeth. He’d been sound asleep until about the fifth ring had finally excavated him from his slumber.

“How soon can you get to the George Peabody Library in Baltimore?” Jack asked, his tone clipped.

Will blinked dully, staring up at the ceiling. “That’s… that’s the one on the college campus? I’m about forty five minutes away… maybe an hour if traffic’s bad. Is there another body?” He asked, prying himself up off the pillow.

“Yeah, so make it half an hour.” Jack replied before the receiver clicked.

Will groaned and threw his phone against the pillow in frustration. He wasn’t sure what he hated more. Super careful Jack, taking care of the fine china for his guests, or… whatever this was, which was in dire need of sedatives.

Will scratched a hand through his wild curls, and smacked at the awful taste clinging to his tongue. No doubt from sleeping with his mouth hanging open. He should probably get dressed and get on the road, though he wanted a shower. He should probably take one though, since he had lied about it. 

He was thinking about everything all at once, hustling around the bedroom half-finishing activities before moving on to other things. All this was to firmly expunge the activities from the previous evening from his mind before they had a chance to take root. That had been a fluke. It had never happened. And it certainly wasn’t going to plague him while he was in the shower.

***

When Will arrived at the George Peabody Library, two officers escorted him past the front desk to a cavernous atrium of black and white stone. Neat rows of reading tables that reminded Will of church pews lined the walkway up to what had been set up to be the centerpiece of the room.

It took a few blinks before Will could make his eyes resolve what he was seeing. At first, he thought he was seeing a recreation of his tableau of Randall Tier, but closer inspection revealed that whoever this killer was, he was willing to go much farther in his abuse of a corpse than even Will was.

The body was that of an African American man, probably in his early forties. But to call it a body seemed dismissive. The body was a medium in this case. He was no less twisted than Winifred Appleton, no less mutilated than Edward Fischer, and no less staged than Arnold Archer and Candice Miller, but this was something else entirely…

Almost a cornerstone of the previous crimes.

The man was mounted up on metal struts that held him in an upright position. He sat partially on his knees, back arched at an unnatural angle, owing mostly to the fact that his spine had been excised and curled back on itself almost reaching to the top of his head. His ribcage had been cut down the center, the organs removed and the individual ribs folded open like the legs of a startled spider. The meat had been “frenched” from each splayed rib… Will remembered that Hannibal had used the term whilst preparing “lamb.”

And lastly the victim’s hands had been removed cleanly below the wrist so that the ulna and radius of each arm could be split. A skull with a dangling identification tag was wedged between them, held aloft like a great prize.

Will just stood for a moment with his mouth slightly agape. There seemed to be nothing else to do. He’d seen horrors in his life, and even created a few, but something about staring at this was truly horrific.

Of course Jack would choose to come over while Will was still trying to gather himself.

“I’m sorry I was so short on the phone.” he said. “But… well, you’ve seen it now. Meet Dr. Thelonius Evans, head of the Entomology specimen archive here at the library.”

Will nodded, swiping a hand over his face. “Um… broken… broken clocks?”

Jack pointed back the way Will had entered. He turned to see a line of clocks over the door, each with a different city designation, all stopped at the exact same time.

“That took a lot of time and effort.” Jack mused.

“Do we know if that’s time of death?” Will asked, turning back to Zeller and Price. He tried not to look at the twisted victim any more than he had to. Even just keeping it in his field of vision made his skin crawl. He’d made the insectish connection, and now he couldn’t keep the din of chattering wings and skittering carapace out of his head.

“It’s in the realm of possibility.” Zeller confirmed. “The others corresponded to what we approximated to be time of death, so I don’t see why we shouldn’t operate under that assumption. But I’ll confirm back at the lab.”

“Agreed.” Jack nodded.

“No… no that’s…”

“Why not? It’s his established MO.”Jack challenged.

“No, it’s what you think is killer’s established MO.” Will corrected. It took an incredible amount of effort to keep his voice even. “And you’re right. It’s corresponded so far.”

“What’s making you have doubts?” Jack asked, clearly working very hard to maintain his patience.

“I think I know this one!” Price piped up. “If it was time of death, the clocks wouldn’t all read the same time. They would read the time of death in each timezone. Right?” 

Will gave a sweeping, considerate gesture and nodded. “There you go.”

“So you think it’s something else?” Jack asked, folding his arms.

“I think it’s a possibility, yes.” Will stated.

“Are we even sure this is the same guy and not some copycat?” Zeller asked. “I mean Freddie Lounds has been all over this.”

“Well, that is what we bring Will around for.” Jack mused. He turned smartly on his heels and bellowed, his voice echoing off the bare stone walls. “Clear the room. Let’s go!” 

There was a flurry of activity as everyone gathered their things, some pausing to shoot baleful glances at Will as they headed for the exit. Will watched them all go, wishing mightily that he could slink out with them. Back to the cabin. Back to his solitude. He might be lonely, but at least there wouldn’t be sculpted mutilations to follow him. Just his his own mutilated thoughts.

The pendulum swinging freely in the dark was not an easy find this time. Its sound was overrun by the chittering of insect legs crawling across the blank space of Will’s mind. Will opened his eyes to find himself not in the atrium, but in a small cramped shelving unit stacked floor to ceiling with living, crawling insect and arachnid specimens. For a brief, panicked moment Will thought he had lost time. Woken up in a place that he didn’t know how he’d gotten there.

But Dr. Evans was there, painstakingly organizing all the little plastic cases. Re-labeling and sorting all in the name of efficiency and tidiness. Fastidious he was. His process meticulous and his movements methodical. Will didn’t want to think too hard about how he knew that. But it did confirm that this was the same killer.

He felt something on his leg, and looked down to find a scorpion crawling up his pant leg, with tail curled to strike. He blinked and it had become the scorpion-man in miniature… scuttling on its flayed ribs, the tip of its spine dripping with black venom. Will shook it loose, coming back to himself with a gasp and a shudder as he looked down to be sure he wasn’t still under attack. Then he looked up to the tableau.

That’s what Evans was. A scorpion.

“What… what did Dr. Evans specialize in?” Will asked shakily.

“Arachnids.” Jack responded. “Scorpions specifically.

“Well, we know what his obsession was.” Will said blandly. “You done any preliminary interviews?”

“He wasn’t disliked, but he had a reputation for being OCD.” Zeller said, rejoining the inner circle around the gristly scene.

Will nodded.

“How’s he choosing them Will?” Jack made it more of a statement than a question. “What’s the connection.”

“I… um… I still don’t know.” He said miserably, looking anywhere but the ghastly scene. 

“Then what are you here for?” he asked sharply.

“I don’t know!” Will bit back. “Did… were there any hits on blog sites? Any places online where these five people might have crossed paths?”

“Not so far.” Price answered. “But the internet is a big place. We’re still looking.”

Will sighed heavily and turned to Jack. “Look… I’ve given you motive. I’ve given you some places to look. These… these kinds of killers, Jack, you know they’re hard to catch.”

For his part, Crawford looked unconvinced. “What do you need?” he asked flatly, folding his arms.

Will thought for a moment. Staring out hopelessly across the library atrium. Anywhere but the scorpion-man behind him. “Give me… give me a copy of the files for these murders. Let me go over them back at the cabin. See if I can come up with anything. Might… might just be the way I have to do things now. It’s how I got the Dragon, after all.”

Jack nodded mutely for a moment before motioning an agent over and instructing him to get Will what he needed.

Will left without another word.

***


	7. The Stars, They Boil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will poured himself his usual nightly whiskey, set up his laptop, and began tiling the kitchen table with gruesome images from all four murder scenes. Each had its own row. Appleton. Fischer. Archer and Miller. And lastly Evans. 
> 
> A woman and her desperate grasp for youthful freedom. 
> 
> A man and his trophies of power.
> 
> A couple and their love and desire for each other.
> 
> A scientist and his…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all!
> 
> Thank you so so so much for all the wonderful feedback and kind words as I've been publishing this. I just finished it last night so all it lacks is some editing. 
> 
> No serious warnings on this one... just some sleuthing, angsting, and drinking.
> 
> Many thanks to KaminaDuck for the speedy beta read. And again... there are probably still errors as I'm also editing/rewriting over top of him. Usually, I take weeks to get something this size ready to publish. x.X
> 
> Thank you all again for reading, for commenting and leaving kudos, and letting me know how much fun you're having with this. Much love!

Will poured himself his usual nightly whiskey, set up his laptop, and began tiling the kitchen table with gruesome images from all four murder scenes. Each had its own row. Appleton. Fischer. Archer and Miller. And lastly Evans. 

A woman and her desperate grasp for youthful freedom. 

A man and his trophies of power.

A couple and their love and desire for each other.

A scientist and his…

Will frowned, picking up the image of Dr. Evans. He was not displaying, or displayed by his obsession. He had been transformed into it. And instead he was holding… what? A human skull, grinning back at him. A quick thumb through the case file revealed nothing out of the ordinary, save his irritatingly fastidious nature regarding the specimens in his keeping.

Will squinted at the picture and took a pull of whiskey. The tag hanging from the skull had a prominent circle and arrow symbol… the symbol of the male. A male skull then? Not exactly the most meticulous cataloguing practice… obviously not done by Dr. Evans. It wasn’t even his department. Perhaps it was tagged by the murderer then? Will made a note to tell Price to be sure to check the tag over, both for prints and other trace evidence.

He replaced the picture of Evans’ body and stood back from the table, placing his hands on his hips. It all swam together. He knew the criteria for the victims. And he knew the killer’s method was different every time, changed to suit the picture he wished to paint. Blows to the back of the head for some. Slit throats for others. But a clear picture of the killer still refused to form. It was as if the killer was as unconvinced as Will was about the nature of these crimes. Perhaps they were to hide something, but what? No connections existed between any of the victims. Everything about them was so desperately random.

Will sighed and took his whiskey out on the terrace to keep him company while he got a breath of fresh air. He stared up at the sky, feeling as much as hearing the waves pounding into the cliff face far below. Over on the far horizon, Scorpio and his curling tail had appeared in hot pursuit of Mars. If Will felt inclined to fancy, it was as if the planet were held fast between-

Will froze, nearly dropping his glass. A wave of sickening nausea nearly tossed him to his knees. He looked up at the constellation again, as if the stars were going to rearrange themselves but the scorpion still hung there, coiled and hungry.

No…

He sprinted back inside, spilling most of his whiskey on the way. He slammed his hands on the tabletop and stared at the pictures aghast. Could it be? Could that really be the answer? Scorpio was a constellation. And the symbol for the male was also the symbol for Mars, the God of War. And the warrior Perseus was another constellation. And the hunter in the lion’s mouth… that could be Leo. And the woman in the car… her face branded with the image of a horse. Had to be either Equus or Pegasus surely. All constellations in the summer sky above the northern hemisphere.

But that still didn’t answer the why, Will thought as he paced wildly around the table. It was a “what” but it didn’t give a why. Was this murderer just mapping out stars? He quickly went to his laptop, feverishly typing to pull up a star chart. Thankfully, the first one he found had all sorts of data on rising, setting, brightness, star counts… even little info graphics about each constellation. Will flicked through them all but came up empty.

A thought dawned on him as he picked through the data. Stars and constellations had long been used in navigation. Will’s father had taught him the basics when they were living on Lake Erie when he was a child. Perhaps the murders were intended to be some kind of map or instructions… or better yet, coordinates. But one would need a sextant, or a computer to find the rising and setting times… and one would need time of night to triangulate latitude and lo-

They weren’t time of death, Will realized with another concussive shock that nearly sent him reeling. The smashed clocks weren’t time of death. The victims were just killed so that it looked that way. To throw off the FBI. To throw off anyone who wouldn’t know to look deeper. No wonder there was something that left Will feeling wholly unconvinced. The smashed clocks were the times where these constellations would be at the cardinal points. And with that information and the right know-how one could calculate a precise location. Everything else was just a diversion.

Will’s phone was in his hand and he was halfway through dialing Jack when his eyes fell on the image of Perseus currently occupying his computer screen. The infographic on the star chart used the same image that Price did at the crime scene… the bronze statue of the warrior proudly holding the head of Medusa for all to see. Will’s head buzzed at the familiarity as it had before. He’d seen that statue somewhere. Not online or on someone’s phone… where was it…

A quick Google search located it. “Perseus with the Head of Medusa” sculpted by Benvenuto Cellini in 1545, ensconced in the Piazza della Signoria in Florence, Italy.

Florence.

“No.” Will actually breathed the word out loud this time. But it couldn’t be. Hannibal had been declared dead for months, and not so much as a peep had been heard out of him. But the more Will thought about it, the more he couldn’t refute what was right in front of him. And if the Florentine statue wasn’t enough, the organs missing from the body of Dr. Evans were. A final calling card. And then… the murders made sense if they were directions. Hannibal’s siren song for Will to come and find him in whatever nook he’d chosen for his hideaway. It was the only way the murders made sense.

Will looked down at the phone in his hand. Jack’s number was already pulled up. All he had to do was hit the call button. He felt a familiar indecisive chill creep over his skin and sink into his bones. This was a choice he’d faced before. Help Hannibal, or hurt him. Turn him in, or go with him. Escape with him, or run and never come back. And every time his indecision and faithlessness had led to disaster. 

No more.

Even if Hannibal was waiting there to kill him, Will still found the idea more palatable to this continued non-existence.

The rudimentary celestial navigation lessons from his father coupled with the wizardry of the internet revealed that the stars pointed to a secluded cabin on the Virginia and West Virginia border, not far from a National Forest. A solid six hour drive. Once he deleted his search history and turned off his phone, that was.

And so, for the second time that year, Will got into his car with barely more than the shirt on his back and drove away. But where leaving Molly had given him the levity of freedom from guilt, this time Will felt less like he was driving and more like he was hurtling off a cliff.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the reunion will have to wait a bit. I've had some family issues come up, and my husband and I are going to be traveling this weekend. But never fear! The fic -is- finished. I just need to hit it with the editing stick a few times. I'll post the last few chapters by the middle of next week at the latest. Thank you again for reading, and thanks in advance for your patience.


	8. Let Death Not Bar Your Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will stood amongst the trees outside the cabin for a long time, marveling at how rustic his destination turned out to be. It was as if they’d switched lives for a few months. Will living in the lap of luxury in the posh sea-side chalet, and Hannibal roughing it in the woods. Warm light pooled on the grass outside the windows, casting long sinuous shadows off the surrounding trees. But he couldn’t see them. All the shadows were behind him. Including his own.
> 
> A boat on the sea. 
> 
> The only time I feel safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all!
> 
> Thank you for your patience as I finish getting this edited, and for all your kind words and well wishes. It gives me the warm fuzzies. <3
> 
> Also thanks to KaminaDuck for the beta-read. There are probably still mistakes, as I'm also eding/rewriting over top of him, so please let me know if you catch anything. And thank you to those who already have done so.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Will stood amongst the trees outside the cabin for a long time, marveling at how rustic his destination turned out to be. It was as if they’d switched lives for a few months. Will living in the lap of luxury in the posh sea-side chalet, and Hannibal roughing it in the woods. Warm light pooled on the grass outside the windows, casting long sinuous shadows off the surrounding trees. But he couldn’t see them. All the shadows were behind him. Including his own.

A boat on the sea. 

The only time I feel safe.

He was safe, standing out in the pillared dark. Safe in this suspended moment as he watched the windows for signs of movement. He felt a sort of peace. The die was cast and the decision was made. Whether Hannibal would welcome him back with wine and good humor, or whether a bloody death awaited him on the other side of the door, he still felt peace. 

The door was unlocked and barely latched. Will pushed it open, and breathed in the scent of the air. He didn’t have Hannibal’s absurdly keen nose, but he could still pick out a few things. Dinner had been something with garlic. And probably wine. The dark wood furniture all glowed with orange oil. And the scent of Hannibal’s aftershave hung in the air throughout. Will had gone so long without smelling it that he inhaled until his lungs hurt.

The house appeared to be empty at first. He wandered the first few rooms, taking in the setting. Sure, the place was rustic, but there was no doubt Hannibal lived here. The copper pots in the kitchen. Plush blankets by the fire. And the stacks of esoteric books near the armchair marked it as his abode as surely as weathered clothes and cheap whiskey marked Will’s. 

Will noticed the back door, which lead out onto a south-facing porch, was hanging slightly ajar, as if in tacit invitation. He paused at the sight, like a deer hearing the crack of a twig. It was the first time Will felt any anxiety about his situation, but he took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

Hannibal stood with his back to the door, a strange mirror of the way Will had first found him in his cell all those months ago. Hannibal’s hands hung loosely at his sides, and his posture was as it had always been; arched and proud. He carried his dignity with him wherever he went. He was dressed simply in a thin sweater and dark pants. And his hair, silvered in the starlight, was longer that Will had ever remembered seeing it, the feathery soft ends just dusting his collar. 

Will just took the sight in for a moment, unable to find the will to move from the doorway, or to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. The peace that had left him upon spying the open door flooded back over him, robbing him of air, of sense, and almost of the ability to stand. 

He stepped out, towards that achingly familiar figure who still had not turned. He was beginning to wonder if he was hallucinating. If it was all a dream… this staggering search across the stars. He wanted to reach out. To touch. To… something…

In the end he just stepped next to him. And they both looked out over the horizon to where Scorpio scuttled along the rim of the sky. It was sinking out of sight now, with Mars firmly clenched in its jaws.

“Do you know the myth of Scorpio and Orion, Will?” Hannibal asked softly, staring off at the stars, their light showing amber through the edge of the horizon.

Will wanted to weep at the sound of that familiar lilting accent. Of the voice that always told fantastic stories. That had assured him, however obliquely, of what he was. And that it was wondrous to behold. His throat clamped closed and he couldn’t speak, so he only shook his head.

“Orion was a great huntsman.” Hannibal expounded. “The greatest in all of Greece, or so he thought. And to prove it, he told the goddess Artemis, his patron, that he was going on a great hunt. And on this hunt he would slay every living creature that crawled upon the earth and sailed in the sky. Now, Artemis was the patron of hunters, this is true. But she was also a conservationist. As much a patron of the hunted as she was of the hunter. And so she sent the mighty Scorpio, with his barbed tail and deadly venom to battle with Orion and put a stop to his intended slaughter. Ultimately, Scorpio prevailed and slew the hunter, but so great was their battle that it garnered the attention of Zeus. He placed both combatants in the stars, both to commemorate their valor in battle, and in the case of Orion, to serve as a warning against hubris.”

“And so they chase each other still.” Will croaked, brimming tears nearly choking off his words.

“And so they do. When the scorpion is not dining on other deities as he is tonight.” Hannibal turned from the sky then, a wry smile twisting his ample mouth. 

“Is that to be our fate then?” Will asked. “Will I always be chasing you?” He finally garnered enough courage to look Hannibal in the face. His visage was mostly shadow, save where the light of the crescent moon painted his cheekbones. But even clouded from sight, finally seeing his face made Will ache with that familiar, unnamed want.

“I have stopped running.” Hannibal replied, regarding him in turn. His eyes seemed to be set deep in the shadows of his face, barely reached by the moonlight.

“Have you?” Will asked, with a little quiet hysteria. “Why didn’t you reach out?”

“I would say that I did.”

“With bodies? Really Hannibal?”

“Well, my first attempt was going to be decidedly less violent as I knew you would prefer. I had planned to make it with Freddie Lounds, but I quickly learned she was not going to be an access point for you.”

“And so what… five people needed to die because you were too proud to pick up the phone?”

Hannibal’s face pinched with derision. “You know as well as I do that the FBI had every point of straightforward contact with you hawked.”

“So what. Kill five people and hope I make the connection?”

“You did. Precisely when I wanted you to. I had hoped you would remember the masterpiece we saw in Florence.”

“Bullshit. You knew I would remember. You know how my brain works.”

“And so it was included.” Hannibal replied simply. “As well as the echo of your work with Randall Tier.”

“And the connection to the stars?”

“We share the same sky.” Hannibal shrugged, his eyes returning to the canopy. “And you often talked of your father… of stargazing with him.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Will asked finally, shaking his head.

“Why have you come?” Hannibal asked in turn.

He swallowed hard. “I… needed to see you. I knew it was you and I just…”

“Have you told Uncle Jack?”

Will fervently shook his head. “No… no, I told you. I’m tired of running. I’ve… been tired of running actually.”

“Did you decide that on the way down the cliff face? Or is that a more recent development?” 

Will let out a short cough of humorless laughter. “Yeah, I think so. I don’t think I would call that running anyway.”

Hannibal smiled then. “Neither would I.” he placed his hand carefully on Will’s shoulder. “I am glad you came, Will.” he said. “I have missed you. Truly.”

Will felt a sob overtake him like a rip current, and he let the weight of Hannibal’s hand on his shoulder carry him all the way into an embrace. He pressed his face into the thin fabric and sucked in a saturated breath as his tears wet the front of the shirt. “I’m tired of running, Hannibal.” He half wailed, his voice wrung with fervent misery. “I’m tired of running after you, and away from myself. I’m tired of it.”

“Then stop. It is as simple as that. I will stop running, and you don’t have to give chase.” Hannibal pulled back to look him in the eyes, the intimacy of the moment shocking them both to the core as it had on the cliff face all those months ago.

“Is it you?” Will asked, his voice pitifully small. “Is it… I’m not dreaming or hallucinating or…”

“Dear Will, we are here with all the sanity and reality that we are ever going to be afforded by this world.” Hannibal replied, his smile parting to bare the slightest glimpse of his teeth. 

Will reached up then, sliding his fingertips over the arch of Hannibal’s cheekbone. When his hand didn’t return bloodied, he cupped Hannibal’s jaw, sliding his thumb over the curve of his lip, feeling the plush heat of his mouth. He could feel the warmth of his blood as it beat under his skin. Hannibal pressed his cheek into the hollow of Will’s hand, his eyes slipping closed in barely restrained ecstasy.

Then, all at once, Will rushed up and kissed him.


	9. Call Me From The Dark Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you remember… all those years ago. When you stared at me as I saved the life of the man undergoing that unfortunate kidney removal?”
> 
> Will nodded dumbly.
> 
> “In the moment I caught you watching, I would have traded that man’s life to kiss you where you stood. The only thing that gave me honest pause was that I didn’t think you’d let me hold you with that man’s blood literally on my hands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Final chapter! 
> 
> Thank you to all of you for reading, for your kind words, and for your patience while I frantically pulled this together.
> 
> Special shout out goes to KaminaDuck for the beta read! And to @hannibalcreative on Tumblr for organizing this challenge. 
> 
> This is the NSFW chapter (finally) in case you hadn't guessed what was coming up next. ;)
> 
> Thank you all again for your comments and kudos and for spending a week stargazing with me.

Hannibal stiffened with shock before melting under Will’s mouth. For his part Will seemed equally surprised at himself, and broke the kiss quickly, staring up at Hannibal with a sort of horrified wonder. 

“I… I…” Will fumbled to explain himself, but Hannibal hushed him with another kiss, far different from the frenzied press of lips that came before. This was the first of an infinitely gentle peppering of kisses. First Will’s top lip, then the bottom. Then each corner, before returning for another soft kiss, square on his mouth. All as if he could map every contour and curve of Will’s pliant, parted lips. The intimacy of it shook Will to his core. Any words he might have tentatively grasped fled from him as they rested their foreheads together. 

“It’s alright, Will.” Hannibal soothed, feeling Will quake under his hands and pulling him even closer. For Will’s part, the words made him grip Hannibal all the tighter. Possibly to the point of bruising, but they were both past caring.

They stood there under the starlight, rocking and swaying, and willing themselves to believe their reunion was fact. 

“You’ve been driving for hours.” Hannibal said after a long silence, laying another kiss along his temple. “We’ll leave difficult things for the daylight. Come.” At first Will was unwilling to let go, burying his face in the soft fabric of Hannibal’s sweater. “Come.” He repeated as he took Will by the hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he followed after, boneless, and will-less, and completely drained.

Hannibal led them up a cramped rough-hewn stair to the second floor which held two small bedrooms and a half bath. 

“The shower is downstairs.” Hannibal informed him. “There is hot water, but it takes a moment to get started.”

Will let himself snort. This really was roughing it for Hannibal.

“I have both rooms made up, so-”

Will made a noise low in his throat and tugged Hannibal closer. “You are crazier than anyone has ever thought if you think I’m letting you out of my sight.” 

Hannibal laughed then, a low velvety chuckle that Will felt all the way down to his toes. “Alright, then. Alright.” He replied softly, pulling Will into the bedroom he had been using. They both stripped down somewhat. Will to his boxers and a tshirt, and Hannibal out of the sweater he was wearing, leaving him in an undershirt and soft sleep pants.

Hannibal climbed into bed, but Will hesitated, shifting his weight and watching. For his part, Hannibal patiently waited, drawing back the covers.

“Has it always been this simple?” Will asked softly, a frown pinching his features.

“No.” Hannibal replied. “Regretfully, a mix of circumstances and our own hubris and indecision complicated things between us. I like to hope we’ve been given an opportunity to change that.”

Will gave a slow considering nod before climbing into bed. He nestled into the crook of Hannibal’s arm, staring up at him as his hands picked up where they’d left off outside. They wandered and roamed Hannibal’s body. His hair. His chest. His face. Touching. Reassuring. For his part, Hannibal seemed content to watch Will’s exploration. Even seemed to enjoy it.

“I’m afraid to go to sleep.” Will said after a long silence, his fingers idly trailing down the front of Hannibal’s shirt.

“Afraid I’ll vanish?”

Will nodded mutely.

Hannibal curled around him, pulling him closer and dipping down for another kiss. Will met it greedily, his lips parting for Hannibal’s tongue with astonishing ease. Will moaned into his open mouth, his hands pulling and tugging at Hannibal as if he could meld the two of them together. Or disappear into him entirely. Never to be found again.

Will broke off with a harsh laugh. “This must be not at all what you wanted.” He said dismissively. “Is this what-” He looked up to see the stricken, dumbfounded look on Hannibal’s face. “Is it?”

Hannibal wet his parted lips and hesitated before he spoke. “Do you remember… all those years ago. When you stared at me as I saved the life of the man undergoing that unfortunate kidney removal?”

Will nodded dumbly.

“In the moment I caught you watching, I would have traded that man’s life to kiss you where you stood. The only thing that gave me honest pause was that I didn’t think you’d let me hold you with that man’s blood literally on my hands.”

“I think I might have let you.” Will said with a wry smile. “Though Jack would have never let me hear the end of it.”

“And then you came to my house afterward. With a bottle of wine. I felt the same then. I wanted to kiss you… cancel my dinner party, send the staff and the guests home, and spend the evening kissing the taste of that wine from your lips.”

“I bet the wine was atrocious.”

It was Hannibal’s turn to smile. “I kept it. Used it the night I made the sacrificial lamb.”

“Who was that anyway?” Will asked with a minute frown. ”I never asked.”

“The last of Randall Tier.”

“I wanted to kiss you that night. I almost did. I wish I had.” His voice trailed off. A silent chasm threatened to open between them, filled with all the traded wrongs dealt to each other.

“Kiss me here and now.” Hannibal said earnestly, drawing his eyes back to his face. “And we’ll forget all the rest.”

Will didn’t need to be told twice. His lips crashed into Hannibal’s, the kiss quickly turning into a clash of tongues and teeth. He had been dimly aware of his own growing arousal from their first kiss out on the porch, but when Hannibal ground his erection into the hollow of Will’s hip, Will went completely limp. His hips canted up to get some friction and he moaned as white stars burst across his vision.

“God… please…” he hated how thin his voice sounded, but he was beyond letting shame stop him. The fever from encephalitis hadn’t burned in his skin as hotly as the want that consumed him now.

“Will…” Hannibal breathed his name, his voice rough at the edges. “Let me take care of you… of both of us.”

Will could only nod, his hands already finding their way up Hannibal’s shirt and ridding him of it. Hannibal reciprocated in short order, pulling off Will’s shirt before moving on to remove his boxers.

“I’ve… I’ve never…” Will started to say.

“Shh…” Hannibal quieted him, threading one hand into the hair behind his ear and kissing him gently. “There will be time. Not tonight. But when you want it-”

“I do… God, I do. I didn’t mean-”

“Shhhh…” He silenced him with another kiss. “Not tonight. Let me take care of you, Will. As I should have always done.”

Will felt himself go boneless at his words. He was effectively stripped of both his clothing and all will to do more than be held in Hannibal’s hands. They were both naked a moment later, their bodies slotting together as they gently and aimlessly rutted against one another. When Hannibal’s long fingers curled around his shaft. Will cried out, worried he might come from just the touch alone.

“At the expense of being incredibly cliche,” Hannibal said, a smile coloring his voice. “Have you thought about this before?”

Will could only nod. How could he summon the coherency to talk?

“So have I.” Hannibal admitted, shifting them both to face each other stretched out on their sides. His accent hung thick on his words. Thicker than Will had ever heard it. “I wondered how you would allow yourself to be. Or if I could coax you into wanton abandonment of all your defenses. I know you will certainly deprive me of mine. You always have.” 

Will clung to him like drift wood as Hannibal wrapped his fingers around both their cocks. Precum oozed down their shafts letting them slip and slide together in a wonderfully tempered friction. 

“Hannibal… Hannibal… please…” Will half-wailed in pitiful desperation. Hannibal had found the perfect pressure… the perfect rhythm… the perfect everything. Almost as if on instinct.

“I have you. I have you, Will...” He assured, one hand still threaded into his hair just behind his ear.

Will gripped his forearm and his shoulder as if he might fly away as he rocked himself into the slickened tightness of Hannibal’s fist. “I’m not going to last… please…”

“It’s alright, Will. I have you.”

His words. His assurance. His name dripping accented and frayed from Hannibal’s lips like warm honey. It all sent Will’s ecstasy spiraling out of him in a blindingly bright flash. White striped up Hannibal’s chest and he stroked him through the climax, wringing every drop and pitiful, needy sound out of him.

“You… you haven’t…” Will panted, as his vision returned.

“Don’t concern yourself.” he replied, but he barely got the words out before Will pushed him onto this back. With the last sparks of his orgasm fading, Will took Hannibal into his mouth. He pushed so hard that he nearly choked on his length as Hannibal met him with an irresistible thrust. “Ah, Will…” he keened, the name followed by a string of words in a foreign language Will didn’t understand the first bit of. But he understood the roughness of his voice… the long pent-up want that was uncoiling through those words.

Will hollowed his cheeks and sucked, feeling and following the answering roll of Hannibal’s hips. They caught a rhythm together for a few short moments before Hannibal came. He was silent as he spent himself down Will’s throat, teeth bared and back arched. Will swallowed what he could, but in the end a few drops spilled out onto his chin. 

As he pulled away, he went to wipe at his face with the back of his hand, but Hannibal caught him. He reeled him in for a long, sloppy kiss that was more licking than anything else, until his face was clean again. When he pulled back, Will saw tears brimming in his liquid black eyes. Will’s throat threatened to close up on him again but not before he managed a few words.

“I’ve got you.” he whispered brokenly as they collapsed together against the pillows, returning to the activity of idly tracing lines over one another’s skin.

After a long moment, Hannibal made to stand. Will’s grip on him tightened reflexively as his expression turned pinched.

“I’m going to retrieve a washcloth.” Hannibal explained, kissing Will on the forehead as if to smooth the frown from his face.

Will gave a sheepish nod and let him go. Hannibal returned quickly, and wiped them both down before curling back into bed facing Will. They stared at each other, with only the sounds of the night beyond the wooden walls to accompany them. It wasn’t long before Will’s eyes had begun to droop closed. But he fought against sleep every second. Shaking himself awake and returning to tracing patterns on Hannibal’s shoulder, or twining his fingers through his hair.

“Sleep, Will.” Hannibal said gently, after several cycles of this.

Will made a complaining noise low in his throat.

“Sleep.” he insisted. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“I’m afraid that they’ll have worked it out.” He whispered. “Took me long enough to. Jack won’t see it… but Zeller and Price are smart. I’m afraid that they’re coming, and I’m going to wake up and you’ll be gone.”

Hannibal smiled then, placing a kiss on his sweat-damp curls before putting out the light. “Dear Will. If they tried to part me from you now, the fight I would give them would surely grant us a place in the stars. Don’t worry. They won’t find us. And we will be leaving soon.”

“Where are we going?” Will asked, looking up at him.

“There is a boat in the harbor of a small town on the coast. Since you sailed the Atlantic to find me in Florence, I’m sure no place is ultimately out of reach.”

Will nodded, satisfied, before tucking his head under Hannibal’s chin and finally letting his eyes fall closed.

***


	10. At Least I'd Be With Thee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue! Thank you all again for joining me on this little stargazing venture! Much love!

Wednesday June 15th 8:05am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday June 15th 8:11am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday June 15th 8:18am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday June 15th 8:24am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday June 15th 9:15am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday June 15th 9:17am - Voicemail from Jack Crawford, “Hey Will, looking forward to hearing your analysis of these murders. Call me back.”

Wednesday June 15th 10:26am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday June 15th 11:01am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday June 15th 11:20am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday June 15th 11:51am - Voicemail from Jack Crawford, “Will, this is Jack. Call me. I want to hear if you’ve found anything. So far Price has come up with nothing as far as usable trace. Really need feedback from you.”

Wednesday June 15th 1:34pm - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday June 15th 2:03pm - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Wednesday June 15th 2:24pm - Missed call from Jack Crawford

-

Thursday June 16th 8:10am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Thursday June 16th 8:44am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Thursday June 16th 9:02am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Thursday June 16th 9:12am - Voicemail from Jack Crawford, “Will, I need you to weigh in on this case. Where the hell are you?”

Thursday June 16th 10:10am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Thursday June 16th 10:56am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Thursday June 16th 12:05pm - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Thursday June 16th 12:18pm - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Thursday June 16th 2:45pm - Voicemail from Jack Crawford, “Will, I’m serious. Even if you’ve got nothing. Call me and tell me. Or tell me you need more time. I’m… We’re starting to get worried. So just call me or something.”

Thursday June 16th 3:28pm - Missed call from Jack Crawford

-

Friday June 17th 8:16am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Friday June 17th 8:45am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Friday June 17th 9:02am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Friday June 17th 9:08am - Voicemail from Jack Crawford, “Will, where in the hell are you? If I don’t hear back from you by this afternoon, I’m actually going to file a missing persons report. This is ridiculous. Call me.”

Friday June 17th 10:34am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Friday June 17th 11:20am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Friday June 17th 12:02pm - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Friday June 17th 12:34pm - Voicemail from Jack Crawford, “I was serious when I said I was filing a report, and I have. Call me.”

Friday June 17th 1:44pm - Missed call from Maryland State Police.

Friday June 17th 1:52pm - Voicemail from Maryland State Police, “Mr. Graham, this is Officer Shelby from the Maryland Sheriff’s office. I’m calling on behalf of Jack Crawford who is filing a missing persons report regarding your whereabouts. If you wish to declare your wellbeing, but do not wish to disclose this information to Agent Crawford, you may call us and count on our discretion. Thank you for your time.”

Friday June 17th 2:02pm - Missed call from Baltimore PD

Friday June 17th 4:41pm - Missed call from Baltimore PD

Friday June 17th 5:39pm - Voicemail from Jack Crawford, “Will, we’re all really worried here. Just… I understand if you’re stumped, but just let me know you’re alright and haven’t gone and done something stupid. I’ve… I’ve had enough Beverly Katzes and Miriam Lasses to last a lifetime… call me and let me know you’re okay.”

Friday June 17th 7:19pm - Missed call from Molly Graham

Friday June 17th 7:24pm - Missed call from Molly Graham

Friday June 17th 7:37pm - Voicemail from Molly Graham, “Will… Will I know we haven’t talked in a long time but the Baltimore PD and Maryland sheriff’s office just called to ask if I’ve seen you. Apparently the FBI and all your… your people down there say you’ve been missing for a few days? You haven’t shown up to work or answered calls and… just they’re all really worried and now I’m really worried and… anyway just... Reach out to someone okay? Doesn’t have to be me. Anyway… just… people care about you. Don’t forget that.”

Friday June 17th 7:55pm - Missed call from Molly Graham

-

Saturday June 18th 10:34am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Saturday June 18th 10:59am - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Saturday June 18th 11:15am - Missed call from Molly Graham

Saturday June 18th 11:20am - Missed call from Molly Graham

Saturday June 18th 2:45pm - Missed call from Alana Bloom

Saturday June 18th 3:03pm - Missed call from Alana Bloom

Saturday June 18th 3:27pm - Voicemail from Alana Bloom, “Will, the Baltimore PD just called to ask if I’ve seen you in the last week. Apparently no one has heard from you in several days and… just everyone’s really worried. Anyway, just give someone a call okay? Let us know you’re okay? Hell, call me. I promise I won’t tell where you are or what you’re doing. We just want to know you’re alright. Take care of yourself, okay?”

-

Sunday June 19th 2:25pm - Missed call from Jack Crawford

Sunday June 19th 5:46pm - Missed call from Molly Graham

-

Monday June 20th 1:09pm - Missed call from Freddie Lounds

Monday June 10th 2:03pm - Missed call from Freddie Lounds

Monday June 10th 2:14pm - Missed call from 

Monday June 10th 2:22pm - Missed call from 

Monday June 10th 2:38pm - Voicemail from “Will, this is Freddie Lounds. What in the hell is this I’m seeing about you turning up in a missing persons list at the Baltimore PD in the middle of a serial killer case? I know you’re fucking out there. And I would bet every cent I have to my name that Hannibal is with you. That whatever you’ve been working on at the FBI is Hannibal’s doing. I can’t prove it, but it doesn’t mean I’m not right. Jack Crawford and the FBI may be thicker than pig shit, but I’m not and I never have been when it comes to you two. I’ve been to this circus and I know your tricks. And I will find you.”

***


End file.
